


Five Times John Wanted To Talk About Arthur...

by Nigaki



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canonical Character Death, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Longing, Lost Love, M/M, Memories, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26512078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nigaki/pseuds/Nigaki
Summary: ... and one time he was listened.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 11
Kudos: 49





	Five Times John Wanted To Talk About Arthur...

**Author's Note:**

> I had to write this after seeing John getting offended when Abigail said John doesn't like talking about Arthur. And I'm sure there is plenty to say about Arthur, they knew each other for years so stop pretending that's the only reason you don’t talk about him, John!

_I was born with lightning in my heels_   
_Set a spur onto my ankle_   
_Bit a horse under the steel_   
_And I lost hope when I was still so young_   
_Had an angel on my shoulder_   
_But the devil always won_   
  
_And oh, I lost it all when I got high_   
_And I can feel you even now_   
_Breaking horses in the sky_   
_I can taste you in my rage_   
_And in the sweat upon my brow_

* * *

**1.**

John closed the doors of the stable behind him and took off his hat, using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He didn’t put the hat back on, he walked with it in his hand towards the house and entered, remembering to dust his boots off before that. Abigail would yell at him otherwise.

“I’m starving,” he announced after leaving the boots and hat by the door and entering the day room where the table was already set. Jack sat in his usual spot, face behind a book. John took it from him and tossed it aside to have his son’s attention. The boy huffed and without even looking at his father, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the empty plate in front of him.

“Good thing you’re done already then,” Abigail said, coming out of the kitchen smiling and carrying a small pot of food. “I finished dinner. Last time I was in town an old lady gave me a new recipe and I finally had all the ingredients to try it. Wasn't easy to find them, it’s quite expensive.”

“Hope you didn’t sell out half the house to afford it, woman,” he joked, sitting by the table while Abigail started serving dinner.

“Stop yapping and eat your food, John,” she scolded him fondly, setting a plate in front of him.

He grabbed the spoon and was about to dig in hungirly when he noticed something familiar about the stew in his bowl. “Wait,” he whispered, digging in the food and pulling out a small piece of meat that was inside.

“What?” Abigail asked confused. Jack was watching John too but not particularly interested with his father's quirks.

John didn’t answer, he just ate the meat and chewed, his expression going through different changes, from concentration, to confusion and ending with realization. “Is that… stew with guineafowl?” he asked, already grinning like a lunatic.

Abigail laughed, relieved it wasn’t anything bad. “I'm surprised you know that bird.”

“You joking?” John looked at her surprised. “That was Arthur's favorite stew! Mine too for that matter!” he added quickly. A smile disappeared from Abigail’s face. “Grimshaw was sometimes making it if she was lucky enough to find some of those birds and we had enough money to buy one.” John chuckled to himself. “She was always angry whenever we ate the whole thing, not even sharing!” He was pretty sure Hosea and Dutch didn’t eat even a spoon of that stew since both he and Arthur were always first to put some in their bowls. Usually the whole pot. John kept grinning while he talked. “She stopped making it when Pearson joined and took control of the pots. Susan didn’t want to share her recipe with him so he couldn’t make us the stew either.” John leaned against the back of the chair and looked at the stew in disbelief. It smelled just like in the past! And looked the same too! “Christ, I haven’t eaten that in years.”

He expected to hear something along the lines of 'Well, hope you enjoy it then!’ or ‘I’ll try to make it more often from now on!’ from Abigail. Hoping for Jack to get interested, wanting to taste the food and enjoy it with his Pa was a little bit of a stretch but the boy didn’t even snicker to laugh at him for his overenthusiastic reaction. He just stared at John, uncertain and Abigail wasn’t looking any better, she was actually pale as if she just realized she poisoned the food accidently.

The smile fell from John’s face when he realized their reaction.

Before he could ask what was wrong, Abigail spoke first, avoiding his eyes and hurriedly placing some of the stew on hers and Jack’s plates next. “It’s okay, John, you don’t have to explain.”

John frowned. “What? I wasn't…” He stopped because Abigail went back to the kitchen for a moment. When she returned, it was without a pot, even though John knew it was still at least half full when she left the room. Abigail was always making a lot in case Uncle and Charles wanted some home cooked meal too. “What are you talking about?”

All stiff, Abigail sat down in her chair. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked about this food before making it, I acted like a bad wife,” she explained herself, making John even more confused. Making dinner for her husband after he worked all day was being a bad wife? “I promise I won’t do that stew ever again.”

John gaped. “What?” he repeated and looked at both her and Jack. They weren't eating. “Wait, no, that’s not…”

“I wasn't aware it would bring back painful memories,” Abigail interrupted him. “I’m sorry.”

Painful memories? What was painful about a stew? Was it about Arthur again?

Abigail avoided talking about him like a plague, only because shortly after his death, John wept like a baby almost every night, not handling Arthur’s death as well as he thought he was when he parted with the older man for the last time. When the reality of never seeing Arthur again crashed onto him, he finally broke and grieved for a long while. That’s when Abigail stopped mentioning Arthur. Completely.

Even then it wasn’t really a blessing since he was already thinking about Arthur all the time without anyone mentioning him, but now? Now it was just frustrating the subject of Arthur was treated like some kind of blasphemy when it should be anything but that. This man deserved every damn praise for what he did in the end.

He deserved to be remembered, not erased from history.

“It’s…” He wanted to argue but he was really tired after today. So he decided not to. “It’s fine,” he said eventually.

Abigail nodded, released a tense breath and started eating slowly and looking like swallowing was actually hurting her while doing it. Jack, with his head bowed, ate too.

John stopped feeling hungry suddenly. He ate the stew, probably for the last time in his life. It tasted different than Susan’s, which wasn’t surprising. Still, he ate the whole thing, remembering how in the past he and Arthur were always stuffing their face with it, ignoring Susan’s mad yells telling them to leave something for the others.

**2.**

A few days later, John was just leaving the bathroom after shaving his face, ready to start another day. Closing the door behind himself, he noticed the door to Jack’s room was open and he could see the boy sitting on the bed and already reading. Or still reading. Wouldn’t be the first time he stayed up all night only to finish the book. John hated that because the boy couldn’t help him around the ranch later, sleeping off the night instead.

But he was already harsh on that boy, not knowing how to treat him differently like Abigail wanted from him, so he decided not to scold him for once and try a civil conversation.

“What you reading, boy?” he asked, entering the room after lightly knocking.

Jack looked up at him, his eyes dark from lack of sleep. Yup, definitely stayed up all night. At least he changed into his night clothes this time. “A book.”

John smirked. “Don’t play smart with your father, boy,” he warned. So much for not scolding him. Well, it wouldn’t hurt him to learn some more respect for John.

“Sorry, sir,” the boy apologized, not sounding sorry at all. John let it slide. “It’s just some silly book. The Three Musketeers.”

If John could look into a mirror, he was sure he would see his eyes glistening with excitement.

He entered further into the room, a little uncertain and unwanted. Jack wasn't even looking at him, once again his nose in the book but John wanted to try to bond with him a little. He finally had a chance. “You know, I read that book too,” he mentioned, sitting next to the boy.

Jack stared at him again, not believing him entirely but a little curious. “Yeah?”

John nodded. “Yeah.”

Usually their taste in books was too different to talk about them. Jack liked to read about adventures, fantasies, dragons, knights, not about philosophers that Dutch started to feed John once he learned how to read.

“Did you like it?” Jack asked, closing his book to watch his father, but not before marking the page.

John scratched his freshly shaved chin. “Not at first,” he admitted truthfully. “Uncle Hosea used it to teach me how to read. He thought something light and funny would make it more pleasurable but it was still frustrating to me. Arthur told me to give it a chance,” he admitted with a fond smile. “He learned from it too, you know? We used to read it together after I learned how to. We took parts in reading out loud. One night…”

“Sorry, sir,” Jack interrupted him.

John looked at him confused, a smile slipping from his face. “For what?”

Jack was looking at his lap, the book clutched tightly in his hands, nervously. “Didn’t mean to remind you of… him.”

He spoke it like it was a word to fear.

Jack was more open with talking about Arthur but after what happened during dinner a few days ago, no wonder he was so scared now. Abigail probably had a talk with him about this, reminding him to keep his mouth shut about Arthur.

Not that it was needed. Jack didn’t remember much about Arthur anyway. Just some glimpses but to Abigail it was enough to teach him to be quiet.

“Jack, it’s fine…”

He tried to assure his son that talking about Arthur was allowed, that it didn’t hurt, it never did but the boy interrupted him again by standing up. “I got to go. Help ma,” he said and walked towards the door, not caring that he was still in his night clothes.

When he stopped, John thought he was actually going to dress in normal clothes but Jack only looked at him, waiting for something.

“Go,” he said sadly when he realized what Jack wanted.

He was gone in a second, closing the door behind himself and probably on his way to the attic to sleep there.

There went another chance to bond with his son. He was never going to succeed. He messed up during the first four years and now he was paying for it. Not only that but he couldn’t share his memories about Arthur again.

He was getting so tired of it, of others treating him like a baby that needs to be protected. He was fine, he wasn't going to cry at the mention of Arthur’s name and he wished everyone would stop avoiding the subject and let him talk freely about the man that he loved dearly. Was that so much to ask?

John sighed tiredly and picked up the book left by Jack on his bed. He went through it quickly, reading some parts here and there with a smile. As if it was just yesterday, he could still remember Arthur reading some of the lines, how his voice sounded like when he was really into the story. He remembered how comfy and warm they were on their shared cot, John tucked under Arthur’s arm, head resting on his chest as they read till late at night.

They were always making sure to tone down their voices to not disturb the others sleeping. But one night they forgot and they woke up Dutch who scared the shit out of them storming into their tent, snatching the book from them without a word and immediately walking out to get back to his own bed.

John and Arthur laughed when the shock passed and they got scolded for that by Grimshaw who, unlike Dutch, didn’t hesitate to call them out for disturbing the sleep of other people.

They had to help her in the kitchen for the whole week and Dutch confiscated their book for that long as well.

It was fine. They just read other books waiting for him to give them back The Three Musketeers.

John couldn’t help but grin at the memory. With the book held under his arm, he carried it to the master bedroom to read it little by little every night. Hopefully Abigail wouldn’t mind.

She did mind and told him to stop reading the goddamn book in the middle of the night while she was trying to sleep.

John moved outside then, reading there for the next few days, laying on the bale of hay by the stable and imagining he was tucked under Arthur’s arm again while the older man’s voice was rumbling softly under his ear.

**3.**

John grimaced when he took a sip from the bottle of whiskey Uncle gave him. “Damn, that’s a strong one.”

Usually he was refusing to drink with Uncle whenever the old man was proposing. He had too many responsibilities to spend even one night drunk and wake up in the morning with a hangover. Abigail would kill him.

But today he made an exception and when Uncle came up to him, asking if he would fancy a drink, John nodded and joined him by the fire. He hoped for a little break from the last couple of days and all the refusing to listen to him.

“I bought it in Blackwater,” Uncle whispered, as if it was a secret. Where else he could’ve bought it? He was too lazy to travel anywhere farther than that.

“You bought it?” John questioned and snorted. “I bet it was for money you stole from me, old man,” John accused him, pointing at him with the bottle. 

“Maybe you should learn to hide it better,” Uncle said back, offended.

“Or I should just kick you out of my ranch,” he suggested and took another swig. It felt so good to feel the burning liquid going down his throat. He hadn’t drunk since the wedding when they celebrated.

“The ranch that I helped build?”

“You did shit!” John shouted at him, swinging slightly to the side when he waved his arm too much.

Uncle watched, amused while John regained his balance. “I coordinated the work,” he said proudly.

“Like I said, you did shit!”

Uncle huffed. “You have no respect.”

“Not for parasites, no,” he muttered into the bottle, drinking again. Despite the burning, he held the whiskey in his mouth a little longer. “It tastes familiar.” He was pretty sure he tasted it before somewhere. Somewhere like on Arthur's lips, on his breath.

“No surprise there, we was buying it while we stayed here with the gang,” Uncle explained, drinking from his own bottle but it was a different brand.

“Oh yeah.” He remembered now, memories rushing back to him. He welcomed them with open arms. Even the label after all those years stayed the same. He looked at it, brushing the small droplets that were there from keeping the bottle in the cold water earlier. “It was Arthur’s favorite here, remember?”

Their stay near Blackwater was short but they had many good memories there. Apart from the failed ferry job that started the gang’s descendent. If everything had gone right then, maybe Arthur would’ve been alive.

They would’ve still been together.

Uncle chuckled, bringing John back from his memories. “I rarely remember anything when a night of drinking is involved.”

“Well, I do, I wasn't that drunk one night.” He sat more comfortably, getting ready to finally say a full story for once. Uncle was too drunk to care and stop him from ‘hurting himself’ as Abigail would put it. He chuckled before continuing. “He was and he couldn’t do anything when I laughed at him for saying dumb things to the girls.”

And I was still laughing when he dragged me off the camp to kiss me but he just passed out instead.

He was shaking with laughter even right now, so much so he didn’t notice Uncle’s worried expression and wary smile at first. 

“You must be really drunk if you talk about him,” the old man pointed out.

John’s good mood perished like every other time these last few days. “What do you mean? I always talk about him,” he noticed. Or at least he would talk about Arthur if everybody wasn't interrupting him all the time! “You just never actually listen.”

That’s all he wanted, for someone to listen. They didn’t have to engage in the conversation, he just wanted to remember Arthur without being treated like he was going to fall apart by the end of the story.

“It’s okay, I understand.” Here we go again. “The alcohol numbs the pain and you can be sure you won’t remember it in the morning. So you can talk to me about him all you want, we won’t remember it in the morning anyway.”

That wasn’t his goal.

“I think I’m good,” he refused and started drinking again and only stopped when the whiskey started dripping from the corner of his mouth because he wasn’t swallowing it fast enough.

He drank a lot that night but still passed out earlier than Uncle. It did numb the pain. The pain of being the only keeper of so many happy memories he couldn’t share with anyone, even his family that treated him like some delicate flower. Why no one was seeing how much joy talking about Arthur was bringing him? Why were they clutching to those first few weeks that were the hardest for him and didn’t notice he healed with time?

He was fine. He still missed Arthur, he would miss him for the rest of his life, whatever long or short, but he wasn’t hurt anymore. He could talk about him, he always could and he wanted to remember.

Only no one else wanted to remember with him.

**4.**

John eagerly agreed to joining Charles for a hunt two days later. There was still some tension between him and Abigail and Jack after that cursed dinner. Abigail was feeling guilty and pampered him all the time, which was so unusual for her he actually felt uncomfortable. Jack was avoiding him which wasn’t anything new but now it felt even worse because every time they passed each other inside the house or somewhere on the ranch, Jack was pitying him. His own son was pitying him for some absurd, irrational reason that started years ago!

John needed a break, something better than Uncle’s alcohol that only left him with a dry mouth and a pounding in his head.

So he and Charles rode out in the early morning. They didn’t talk much, except about Charles' plans for the future. He changed his mind since the last time and was going back to the Wapiti tribe. He wanted to find a wife there. John would hate seeing him go but he wished him all the best. Charles helped him so much, first in the gang by helping Arthur, then here, building a house with him and helping giving Micah what the rat deserved. Charles deserved his own life like everybody else.

Arthur fought for that during his last days.

“You’re pretty good hunter, John,” Charles said to him after they stored two bucks on their horses the next day. Now they were getting back. John would gladly stay in the wilderness longer, maybe visit Strawberry while they were in the area but he knew Abigail was probably already angry with him for going on the hunt. There was no reason to piss her off more. He wanted some peace on his ranch after all.

“Thanks,” he replied, blushing a little. “Hosea taught me. In the early days he was taking me and Arthur on hunts pretty often.”

“Arthur was a decent hunter too,” Charles admitted, riding his horse right next to John. They were keeping a slow pace. “Was he always good?”

John’s whole body perked up when someone was finally interested in his memories of Arthur. And unlike Abigail and Uncle, who knew Arthur for a few years(still not as long as John though), Charles only knew him for a few months so he had a lot to hear about his brief but dear friend.

“He was terrible,” John answered with a genuine laugh. Thinking about Arthur was always making him happy. “Hosea said he taught him for years but he was as inexperienced as me and I was fourteen at the time.” When they went on their first hunt together, he was sure he would be the only one not catching anything but Arthur returned to camp empty handed as well, pouting the whole way back. “Hosea was the one doing the tracking and the killing, we was just… there I guess.” He grinned wide, remembering one of many trips over the years. “Annoying him mostly because I was getting bored pretty fast and started annoying Arthur. He would annoy me back and that was annoying Hosea. Sometimes we wouldn’t catch anything for hours because we would scare all the game around. Hosea was always angry but in the end, when returning to camp, he would smile brightly and tell Dutch what a great time he missed by staying.”

And he was right. Despite the constant arguing and shoving between him and Arthur, or the older man throwing him into shallow creeks only to get him wet and fuming, and chasing after him while Hosea would shook his head, already knowing he wasn't going to catch anything, those were some of the greatest times they experienced together. John would never forget them.

He looked at his friend, eager to see his reaction to the story and he practically beamed when he noticed Charles’ smile. “Sounds like a lot of fun.”

“It was,” he confirmed and looked ahead, lost in his memories. It was good to share them finally, show what a wonderful man and a friend Arthur was. “Hosea would let us go alone eventually. You can imagine how bad it ended the first time. I actually ran away from Arthur and got lost. I think he got lost too but he denied it later.” Just like he would always remember the happiest moment, he would remember that one too. How terrified he was alone in the forest, not seeing or hearing Arthur anywhere. “We spend the whole night apart, only founding each other in the morning. I never saw Arthur so terrified and in the next moment so relieved. I think we hugged for hours.”

He had no idea who was more relieved to see who – Arthur knowing Dutch and Hosea wouldn’t kill him for losing John, or John knowing he wasn't alone anymore. Probably both, just happy that the other was okay in the end. That’s why they were so hesitant to let go and clutched to each other desperately.

“You okay, John?” Charles asked suddenly.

John turned to him, confused. “Yeah, why?”

“You have tears in your eyes.”

John blinked and he felt the first tear dropping, going down his cheek. “Oh,” he realized finally. He wiped them away quickly and smiled reassuringly at Charles. “Yeah, it uh… happens sometimes, you know.”

Just because thinking and talking about Arthur didn’t hurt didn’t mean he wasn’t sometimes getting emotional about him. It was hard to avoid, Arthur was his everything – his friend, his partner, savior, the love of his life. He would feel like a monster if he wasn't reacting like that once in a while, simply missing what was lost forever.

It was good to cry sometimes.

Despite assuring everything was okay, doubt and guilt already appeared on Charles’ face.

No, no, no, not another one!

“I'm sorry,” he said, just like everyone else in his position. John wanted to scream in frustration. “I shouldn’t have asked you for details about Arthur.”

“It’s fine,” John promised. He finally found someone who was enjoying his stories and actively wanted to know more about Arthur, he didn’t want to lose him!

“No it’s not, you’re still hurting,” Charles noticed, putting words in John’s mouth that he never said.

“I’m really not…”

Charles stopped him by raising his hand. “You don’t have to deny to make me feel better,” he assured me. John only gaped at him. “I won’t ask again. I’m sorry I did.”

Charles desperately wanted to hear he was forgiven.

It was easier to say than explain that he wasn’t hurt.

He was so goddamn tired of even trying when clearly no one was listening to anything he had to say. Not to his memories of the side of Arthur only he, Dutch and Hosea ever witnessed, nor to his assurance that he wasn’t grieving anymore.

“It’s fine.”

He was fine.

But he was starting to feel like he really wasn’t.

Only the reason was completely different than everyone thought.

**5.**

Sadie came to visit a few days later. She dragged John on another bounty hunter business. Abigail wasn’t happy but she preferred this than waiting for John to lose control and starting picking up fights in town. And Sadie promised Abigail to keep an eye on John, like he was some kind of child that needed a nanny, so she eventually agreed to let him go with her.

It was an easy job, probably deliberately picked up by Sadie to be less dangerous than her usual gigs so Abigail wouldn’t end as a widow and a single mother. It was still fun, John got to shoot a little and punch out their target’s teeth that was now gagged, tied up and safely stored on Sadie’s horse. They were on their way to Valentine to get their reward.

“It’s hard to believe you started doing it not so long ago,” Sadie mentioned, impressed. “You’re a natural, John Marston!”

John smiled bashfully. “I did not,” he corrected her. “Arthur and I used to hunt outlaws all the time in our younger days. Easy money and it was always fun to mock them for being caught by other outlaws.” He chuckled under his breath at that, remembering some of the outlaws going crazy at the amount of talking they were suffering from when John and Arthur were on their way to get the reward. “Once we even…”

“You should’ve told me,” Sadie said suddenly, sounding almost angry.

John looked at her questioningly. “I thought you knew it wasn't my first time.”

His friend sighed. “Not about this…” she hissed and rubbed at her face, frustrated. “Shit, sorry I brought that up.”

“Brought what up?” he asked, confused only for a short while before he realized what was wrong. “Sadie, you didn’t do anything.”

“I made you talk about Arthur,” she explained. John already knew where this was going and just looked at her sadly. It was a bad idea, when she looked back, she misinterpreted the expression on his face. “Abigail warned me you don’t like that. I'm sorry.”

Abigail, Jack, Uncle, Charles, now Sadie. Everyone thought they knew better what was best for him, how much he could handle and what could hurt him. They knew nothing.

He wanted to share his memories, not greedily hold them inside just for himself. It was killing him to hold onto them, even if they were just his and Arthur’s for years before. They shouldn’t be any more but they still were because everyone was always seeing the longing and the tears in his eyes but were turning blind the moment he smiled happily and his eyes sparkled in excitement.

“Sadie…”

“Let’s forget that happened, yeah?” Sadie asked, not allowing him to explain that everything was fine.

Because he was a child who needed protection, who couldn’t take care of himself or decide what was safe for him. 

Maybe he actually was, because instead of arguing, he just sagged in the saddle and nodded.

“Yeah, okay.”

Sadie went ahead of him, he didn’t chase her and let her keep the distance while he stayed behind, remembering the memory from the past alone. Again. 

**+1**

John laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Abigail was sleeping next to him, her back turned to him, oblivious to what was happening in his head.

It was a mess. He was thinking of the past too much and he had no way to spit it all out. It was painfully twisting inside of him, keeping him awake at night and distracted during chores. He had no idea how many times he was waking at night recently, haunted by the old memories that looked for the way out. Or how many times he hurt himself accidently or almost hurt one of the animals when he started daydreaming of the old days. Just yesterday he almost dropped the heavy bag on one of the chicks because he was remembering how Arthur used to walk around the camp with a similar bag, carrying it from the wagon he used shopping to Pearson who would then happily thank him for providing for the gang like always. Arthur would smile humbly and went to get the rest. The others would just watch, happy that it wasn't their job to do some heavy lifting. Susan or Hosea would remind him to be careful about his back and John would offer to help but Arthur would refuse, saying he got this.

Careful to not wake up Abigail, he untangled himself from the sheets and just in drawers and a thin shirt, he walked barefoot towards the door that cracked when he opened them. Abigail stirred in bed.

“John?” she asked sleepily, barely looking at him, her eyes were closing on their own. “Where are you going?”

“To the outhouse,” he lied and watched her drop her head back onto the pillow. “Get back to sleep.”

“Mmm,” she only hummed in response and not a second later, she was back asleep. He envied her.

He went outside, taking the satchel from the hook near the door and stepping over Rufus sleeping outside. The dog looked at him, his tail thumping softly against the porch. John didn’t pay him any mind and walked to the railing, leaning against it.

John pulled out Arthur’s journal from the satchel and opened it in the middle where a bunch of notes were stuck inside, some new, some eight years old and put there by Arthur himself before he died. He ignored them, only caring about the old picture hidden under all the business cards and lists of flowers or feathers.

Holding the picture, he put the journal back in the satchel that he laid safely on the ground. With a smile, he looked at the picture. It was really old, one look at the back told him it was made in March 1889. He was sixteen and a vital part of the gang, robbing together with Arthur, Dutch and Hosea. They would later give part of the stolen money to the poor. Back then he really believed they were more than just bandits, they were free men living their best life and helping those in need of help.

Dutch coaxed them into taking this picture after one of the robberies they pulled out a few days earlier. They were in the new town where there was a photographer and Dutch just couldn’t let that opportunity slide. As he put it “I want my family immortalized in a photo so future generations can see how the greatest gang that ever roamed the west looked like.”

Arthur huffed amused in response to that, Hosea patted Dutch on the back and told him no one would remember them after they die, which made Dutch a little grumpy. John was just grinning, excited, because it’s been two years since their last photo together and while that one was great, he was still a kid back then. Now he was almost a grown man, looked far more serious and wanted a new photo to go with that.

In the picture Dutch and Hosea were sitting on the small couch, practically sitting in each other’s laps. Dutch’s left leg was actually thrown over Hosea’s lap. They were smiling softly and holding hands. He and Arthur were behind them, embracing, their cheeks squished together, big grins on their faces.

They were so happy then, all four of them. They were like this for years forward, they were family. 

How could he just force himself to forget that and about many more, pretend it should only stay in the past, not talk about this at all? How could anyone think something so happy could bring him pain?

He couldn’t stand it and live like that anymore. Other people would want to forget about all of this but not him. He wanted to remember those happy times with his family, cherish the memories of the man that saved his life. He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Arthur and John was never going to forget that.

Forget him.

After looking at the picture one last time and smiling back at Arthur’s happy grin, he tucked the photo back where it was safe and returned to the house, going straight to the attic. He opened the chest where he held his holsters, ammo, guns, everything that he would need on the road.

If no one here wanted to talk with him about Arthur, he would find someone who would listen.

“What do you mean you’re leaving?!” Abigail screeched in the early morning, when she noticed him preparing Buell and asked what he was doing.

“Exactly what I said,” he replied, tightening the belts around the horse’s middle.

“You have a ranch!” she reminded him, furious. He already talked with Charles and Uncle, they were going to take care of things there. Well, more Charles than Uncle. “A family!”

Jack wouldn’t even notice he was gone. He didn’t even come out to say goodbye. John wasn’t surprised, the boy was probably relieved that he would spend some days without his father trying to drag him to do work he hated. Abigail would rest from him too. She was clearly tired of him moping and being away with his thoughts all the time so he was really doing them both a favor.

“I know.”

“And you’re leaving it behind?” There was a fear in her voice now.

“Only for a couple of days,” he assured, turning to her. He walked past her to grab Arthur's hat he left hanging on the railing earlier. He put it on his head, enjoying the familiarity of it. When he was traveling far, he was always wearing Arthur's hat. It seemed right. “I need to do something.”

Abigail put her hands on her hips, the fear turning into anger again. “What is this something?” she asked, suspicious.

“Abigail, don’t worry about it,” he told her, moving her gently from his way and getting back to his horse.

“I’m your wife, it’s my job to worry!”

“Just trust me, okay?” he asked, already climbing into the saddle. Buell shook his head and huffed loudly, ready to go.

“I bet it’s some crazy job Sadie suggested to you.”

“Jesus, Abigail, have a little faith, will you?” he snapped, frustrated she was pushing him to spill the beans. He had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at her. Now she wanted to listen to him, he thought bitterly and looked at her gapping at him. “I’ll be back before you know it. If you start to miss me, just yell at Uncle instead of me. It’ll be like I'm still here.”

“Hey, what did I do to you?!” Uncle shouted from the bench near the door.

John quickly nudged Buell to move before all hell would break loose. Which didn’t take long to happen.

“You get back here John Marston and take back what you just said about me!” Abigail yelled after him. Maybe if she did that now, she would be good for the next week or so. “John! John!”

“I’ll be back, darling, don’t worry!” he shouted back and made Buell go faster. Soon he left his ranch behind.

It took him some time to go where he was heading. He stopped in the wilderness for a break and later in Valentine as well, sleeping in the hotel while Buell rested in the stable. In the early morning the next day, he left the town behind and rode north. After only a few hours he reached the bottom of the mountain he only visited twice earlier.

John dismounted and loosely tied Buell to a tree so the horse could still run away in case some predator would appear. Hopefully it wouldn’t.

“I’ll be back later,” he promised, patting the horse gently. Some buck watched them curiously from behind the trees. John look at him, the animal twitched its ears and kept staring, not running away. John had no idea what was in that area that lured male deers here, because the other two times he visited, a buck was also there. 

Ignoring the strange animal and its curious eyes, he climbed the small mountain till he reached the peak. Everything was the same as it was when he was there last time. An eagle that always sat on one of the rocks screeched at him and flew away till it was only a small dot in the distance. John followed it with his eyes for a while before focusing on the flowers growing around the cross with Arthur's name on it. They were always here, never dying, as if nature herself wanted to honor Arthur in some way.

John pulled his coat tighter around himself and stepped closer, crouching in front of the cross and reading carvings on it.

“It’s been a while, partner.” He gently touched the cross and followed Arthur’s name with his fingers. “I missed you,” he said in a whisper and smiled fondly. He shifted and sat next to the cross, leaning against the rock behind him and sighing when he got comfortable. “I was thinking recently…” John gave himself some time to think about his next words and looked at beautiful views that stretched all around him. Charles picked up a perfect place. “Remember that time we was sitting in our tent at night and you suddenly said we should steal a goat because you were sick of eating only eggs and chickens and you wanted some fresh milk, and I didn’t even question it, I just nodded and said ‘okay’? So we went and tried to steal that one nasty goat. It headbutted you so hard it knocked you over the fence and you landed in the pig pen. I laughed so hard and you were so mad.” John couldn’t help but laugh right now as well, still remembering Arthur’s yelp and shocked expression before he backflipped into the mud. “You climbed back, tossed me over your shoulder and threw me into the mud as well, ruining those fancy clothes Dutch bought me. He was so mad, it was when he was still trying to teach me how to imitate him since he obviously failed with you.” He laughed again, regretting he never had a chance to see Arthur dressed in style similar to Dutch’s. “I was so thankful to you for that. We wrestled in the mud for a while, scared the shit out of pigs. Either them or our laughs woke up the rancher and he chased us off with his double barrel. We returned to camp with no goat but stinking like pigs. I thought Susan was going to kill us.”

John laughed again and closed his eyes, remembering the big grin on Arthur's muddy face when Susan smacked him on the head with a rag and told them both to go wash for at least two hours to make sure they weren’t smelling like pigs anymore, until then they weren’t allowed to show up in her camp.

A soft wind blew onto his face and moved his hair gently. For a few short seconds it felt as if Arthur’s fingers were tucking it behind his ears, softly brushing his cheek like he did so many times when he was still alive.

John felt a presence by his side, the heat of someone else’s shoulder against his but when he opened his eyes, there was no one there, no one to lean against like in good old days.

Yet the feeling stayed with him and John smiled again, not feeling lonely.

“Remember when…” His voice was a little shaky now and his eyes started to sting with tears but he felt truly happy, happier than during the last few months. “Remember when Dutch took us to the theater, saying we should educate ourselves on culture and art? He put us in those uncomfortable suits and forced us to groom our hair? Right at the beginning, when he was busy talking to Hosea we sneaked out and he found us a few hours later in some shady saloon, no ties, no cuffs, hair already a mess and pockets full of cash we won in poker by scamming people. He was going to yell at us for leaving but when he saw us he was just so proud. Hosea even more. They both ended up buying us some whisky.”

John let out a watery laugh, still grinning happily. He loved that story so much.

He continued for hours, talking about both happy and sad memories, because each was equally as precious to him. Like everything that was connected to Arthur.

And because he could finally share his love for him.

He was finally heard.

* * *

_So kiss me now_   
_This whiskey on my breath_   
_Feel the lives that I have taken_   
_What little soul that I have left_   
_And oh, my God_   
_I'll take you to the grave_   
_The only love I've ever known_   
_The only soul I ever saved_   
  
_And I went home_   
_Chasing twisters in the canyon_   
_My cathedral is the badlands_   
_Dust and devils on my conscience_   
_Come back to me, darling_

_And I've been waiting for so long now_   
_I can feel you in the hollow_   
_And every cloud on the horizon_   
_Come back to me, darling_

_Don't you know I dream about you?_

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics from Chasing Twister by Delta Rae.


End file.
